


The Cupcake Dilemma

by TheMurderousDuck



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Added background characters, Angst, Chickens, Fluff and Humor, Injury, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slight spoilers for the show, Survival Horror, Swearing, set after season two, slight descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-07-05 20:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15871206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMurderousDuck/pseuds/TheMurderousDuck
Summary: Is a surprise for Clementine worth Kenny's life? Only Kenny could turn a simple idea into a Jack-and-the-Beanstalk type mission.I originally posted this on Fanfiction.net, but after looking back at it, there were lots of bits that could be better. This version is edited and has major changes.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> As I mentioned, this story has been edited and changed from the original. Some scenes are missing and some are added, but mostly it's additional dialogue and descriptions.
> 
> Please enjoy.

They had walked away from the gates of Wellington four months ago. Kenny, Clem and AJ now lived in a cosy little cabin; some hunter's winter retreat tucked away in the deep forest. The previous owner had stocked it with cans of baked beans and corn kernels. This, in addition to the supplies given to them by the sentry at Wellington, and Kenny’s ransacking of the houses of the nearest town meant that they could settle in one place for a while. They hadn't seen a single other human since claiming the cabin, and few walkers.

Kenny noticed that Clementine seemed more relaxed since they had settled down. Being warm and fed, and no longer constantly on the move had made a difference. He knew she had shed some private tears; her parents were dead and so was Lee, and finally being able to grieve for them was good for her, he supposed. That tight look in her eyes had eased. He was glad to see it. He hadn’t had the time to think about his own family; not with two kids to feed.

The bags Edith had given them contained baby formula, enough to last AJ a couple more months. They were also packed with food, medicine, blankets, ammo and two machetes. This, along with the cabin's canned food windfall meant that Kenny didn't have to go out to look for supplies as often, but still, his foraging radius was increasing noticeably now. They would have to do something about that soon, but in the meantime he made sure that his trips away from the kids didn't last longer then two days.

One day, after just such a foraging trip, Kenny was in the kitchen putting cans of food into the cabinets. He heard Clementine talking softly to AJ in the living room. He heard the baby murmur something in baby language, causing him to smile. Two sacks lay on the kitchen bench, the first rapidly depleting as he emptied it. It had been a good haul this time, but there had been walkers upstairs in the house he'd been ransacking and he'd hurried, barely noticing what he shoved into the sack.

"Canned prunes. Ugh. Damned walkers, all their fault. Sorry ‘bout that, Clem," he muttered. "And what's this…Spam! Two of them. Spaghetti. Another spaghetti. A packet of...ship's biscuit, what the hell? Who eats ship's biscuit?"

Kenny was a fisherman, but he’d never eaten ship’s biscuit in his life. He thought of it as a British thing.

In spite of his complaints, everything went into the cabinets, and the litany went on.

"More baked beans, well, we ain't gonna get sick of them, are we? Soup. More soup. And...more soup. Pumpkin soup, hah, AJ just scored big time. Next...oh my God, no, I don't believe it. Oh, my God! Canned hot dogs! Hey Clem!" he shouted. "Look at this! And..."

He pulled out a box. It had a familiar label that seemed to glow in front of his dazzled eye. He shook it, to hear something rattle inside. It was still sealed. It was still perfect.  
He opened the lid to see that the clear plastic packet inside held a brown powdery substance. He put the lid back down and looked at the box for a use-by date, which he found at the bottom. It had expired a month ago, but he knew nobody believed in that. He looked at the front of the packet again. The image of perfectly frosted chocolate cupcakes in their red paper cradles seemed to be telling him something. He heard soft steps coming towards the kitchen and quickly put the box in the cabinet, just managing to shut the door as Clementine came in.

"Hey Kenny, what's up?" she asked, and he heard the smile in her voice. Her relief was always obvious when he came back safely. Kenny turned and grinned at her.

"We struck gold! Look at this," he answered as he thumped the can of hot dogs down on the counter before her.

Clem's eyes lit up. "Are we having that for dinner tonight?" she asked, although both of them already knew the answer to that. Enjoy your best now, because you may be dead tomorrow.

"You bet. How's AJ?"

"He's good," Clem shrugged. "I was trying to teach him a game but he got bored and crawled away."

The man chuckled for a few moments. "What game were you tryin' to teach him?"

"Peekaboo. I was trying to get him to copy me.” Clementine explained.

Kenny smiled and chuckled a bit more, although he ducked his head slightly so she wouldn't see the memories of another little boy in his face. He had played that game with Duck. It was only natural that raising AJ would bring past experiences with his son to mind.

"So, do you need anything?" he asked, after a small pause.

"No, I came because you called," she reminded him. "Also, I just wanted to check on you."

"Check on me?" Kenny faked being astonished for a moment. "I thought I was the one takin' care of you?" The two smiled at each other.

"You were pretty quiet the last few days before this latest trip, Kenny," the kid stated, as her gaze turned serious.

"Don't worry about me, Darlin'. I've just been a bit tired lately is all."

"If you want to go take a nap or something, I'll put away everything else," she said, shrugging as if it were no trouble.

"Thanks hon, but I'll be good."

Clem nodded and opened her mouth as if she was about to say something else, but she heard the baby start to fuss in the other room.

"He's probably bored again." Clementine rolled her eyes before she turned and went into the other room. Through the door that led to the living room, he heard Clementine say, ”Hey goofball, are you bored again?" and then, "No! Don't eat that!"

After a minute, the crying stopped. Kenny opened the cupboard and grabbed the box again, staring at it with his single eye for all he was worth. An idea popped into his head.

He could make the cupcakes for Clementine.

He remembered a few months ago that the girl brought up the subject of cupcakes, and they got into a heated debate about which flavour was better. She ended up winning, but only because he wanted to get some sleep and at the rate they were going, she would've been up all night. But Kenny could tell how much she missed cupcakes.

Sure, he wasn't the best cook, especially in times like these, but if anyone deserved a cupcake, she did. He turned the box over and read the instructions. It seemed pretty simple. All he needed was eggs and milk.

He looked up, his gaze unfocussing. While still on the road with Clem and AJ, he'd met a small group of survivors that lived about halfway back to Wellington, about two days' leisurely walk from here. They'd kept a few pigs and sheep, hens, and a milk cow. They were doing well in these times, but they weren't the nicest or most honourable people in the world. He'd left Clem and AJ in the forest while he tried to offer a can of beans in exchange for some milk, for the baby. They'd simply taken the can and left him with nothing in return but bruises.

Man, that still stung. Yeah, they still owed him a cup of milk, at least.

And he would take some eggs for interest.

He remembered exactly where their farm was. He would have to extend the time limit, as the best he could do, if he moved fast, would be to get there and back within three days.

It would be risky, but he would do it for Clem.


	2. Chapter Two

Kenny turned the idea over in his mind for three days before broaching the subject of another foraging mission to Clem. He waited until the evening of the third day, when they were finishing their soup and about to start on heated chilli beans. He had been stalling. He knew Clem would not be happy at the thought of him leaving again so soon.

AJ sat propped up in his modified chair and opened his mouth for the next spoonful of soup. Clementine sat on AJ's other side as she ate her beans. Kenny's food was cooling in his bowl. He wanted to make sure that the baby was fed first so he would get more peace whilst eating his own dinner.

"I got an idea, I reckon it'll work out good," he said, keeping his eye on the spoon as he guided it into AJ's little bird-mouth.

Clem looked up, her eyes immediately registering concern.

"What's the idea?" she asked, after a telling pause.

"I need to go out on another trip, Clem," he said, as sincerely as possible. "There were a few houses left in the area that I haven't been in yet, but I reckon others have been around there lately, too. They'll clean it all out if we don't get there first."

"But you just came back!"

He felt guilty, even though what he was saying was true. Someone else was raiding the houses in the small town, and the place would be tapped out very shortly. Soon, he would have to venture further for supplies, and that was not a day he was looking forward to. However, on this trip he didn't intend to go anywhere near that town.

He covered her hand with his and watched her as she forced herself to calm down.

"How long will our supplies last?" she asked quietly.

"Four or five weeks," he said.

She nodded. "Are you going to plant the garden before you leave?"

"Yeah. I'll do that tomorrow. I'll leave the next day."

"Okay," she said, staring down at his hand as it squeezed hers.

Winter was over now and it was time to plant vegetables. He'd found packets of seeds in someone's garden shed in town. Fresh vegetables would be an invaluable supplement to their food supplies, not only to stretch the supplies, but for the nutritional value.

"You'll have to water them every day," he cautioned her.

"I will."

She sounded resigned. This was supposed to make her feel good, not scared. He knew it was a strain on her when she was left alone. She could handle a single walker, but the living were more dangerous than the dead, in these times, and he was so damn glad that Lee had taught her how to use a gun.

"I just want to make sure that we don't run outta food, Darlin'," he said. "I'd have to make another trip soon anyway, 'cause the canned stuff will run out before the vegetables are ready."

Clementine looked down and frowned slightly. He hated that troubled look.

"Hey, Clem, don't worry. I'll try to be back as soon as possible," he reassured the girl. "No more than three days."

"Baa. Aaah!" said AJ, and screwed up his face to cry.

Kenny hurriedly put another spoonful of soup into the baby's mouth.

"...Okay," was the girl's reply. "But why three days? You never take more than two."

"I'm gonna grab what I can get. Good girl, I promise everything will be alright."

Clem nodded, and they continued their dinner. He pretended not to notice her watching him.

Around four in the morning on the appointed day, Kenny arose and began packing for the trip by the light of the stove fire. He packed the essentials; a few cans of food, a knife, matches and a little bundle of wood shavings for kindling, and his trusty crowbar. A couple of cans of beans and a packet of the weird ship's biscuit did for food.

He also included a small, lidded plastic container that would hold an egg or two, and after a bit of thought he added a rag for padding, so that if the eggs rattled around in there, they wouldn't smash. He also included a flask, courtesy of the previous owner of the cabin. It was originally intended for coffee or soup, but would do pretty darn well for the milk.

Once he was packed, he walked over to AJ's crib in the corner of the room. He placed a hand gently on the baby, whispered a quick goodbye and silently left the room.  
He walked down the hallway and stopped at the door of Clem's tiny room. He quietly opened it and peeked in to find the girl sleeping peacefully. The rug was arranged comfortably around the girl as one of her hands gripped it by the edge.

The man walked in and bent down to the girl. He gently kissed her forehead and moved her hair off her face, then straightened and moved to the doorway. After a pause, he shut the door with a quiet click.  
Kenny walked in the forest for three hours. The sky had long since begun to glow with the dawn, then bloomed into full daylight. He was getting a little tired, as he was moving at a good pace in order that he get there and back as soon as possible.

He gripped his gun a bit tighter and looked around as he moved into an area of deeper forest. The ground was a shade of greenish brown and was covered with thick, ropey vines. The tree canopy stopped much sunlight from reaching through. Kenny didn't like being in the half-darkness, as he couldn't see as much with his single eye.

Kenny heard a rasping groan behind him and quickly spun around to face a walker, most likely male. It staggered at him, grinning without meaning to, reaching out with its dirty hand with broken fingernails. It stank. The fresh ones always did.

He decided against shooting it. Instead, he raised the weapon and brought it down on the walker's head. Unfortunately, the walker slipped on a mossy tree root at the exact moment he clubbed it, and so his blow wasn't true enough to penetrate its skull. The walker fell to the ground but hardly seemed to notice, immediately reaching for him again as it lay against the tree trunk, its head tipped back in an attitude of pleading.

Kenny finished it off by stomping on it until he heard a crack and felt his boot push through the skull.

By midday, his walker kills had increased to five, all in separate incidents. He realised that the darkness and density of this part of the forest was a trap for walkers. They could make their way in easily enough, but were unable to find their way out again. He had saved time by coming this way, but he would not enter this part of the forest again if he could help it.  
He made it into less dense territory by about two in the afternoon. The contrast amazed him; the sun shone through the trees overhead, brightening the new grass at his feet and he could see his surroundings reasonably well. He made even better time and had no further incidents with walkers that day.

That evening, he set rattle traps and unrolled his blanket before his fire. He thought about opening a can of baked beans, but fell asleep before he could make that thought a reality. He awoke just before dawn, cold and hungry. A can of beans didn't even take the edge off his hunger and he realised that he had gone the entire previous day without eating anything at all. He took out the surprisingly heavy slabs of ship's biscuit and opened one.

The first bite nearly broke his tooth. He swore and looked at the packet. The Navy would call it hardtack. Good name for it. Was he supposed to soak it in water, or cook it somehow? There were no instructions. He was so hungry that he put the corner of the pale brown rectangle in his mouth and sucked on the corner.

After a few minutes, the corner broke off in his mouth and he was able to chew it.

And it was good, not too bad at all. Kenny began on the other corner while he packed up his camp, holding the slab in his mouth as he worked.

By dawn, he knew he was close. The farm was in a clearing about a mile from the main road. He was approaching it from the opposite direction, the unguarded side that faced the forest. These fools only guarded the road leading to the highway, relying on barbed and spiked fences to keep walkers off the other boundaries.

Then he found it.

He heard a rooster crowing its head off first, then smelled the pigs; a pungent, unmistakeable odour. Then through the trees he caught a glimpse of blue and saw the farmhouse building, shabby and in need of a coat of paint. A small chicken coup surrounded by cyclone fencing stood thirty yards from the house. The pigs, all eight of them, trundled slowly around in their unspeakable pens. He looked around for the cow and guessed that they brought it into the building with them at night to avoid it being stolen. Either that, or it had died. He hadn't thought of that possibility.

No-one was in the yard yet. Kenny looked at the house again and tried to determine how long he had until someone came outside. A vigorous amount of smoke arose from the chimney, so someone was up and starting their day. They had a sceptic tank so probably used the inside toilet when they got out of bed, rather than doing their business outside. But the pigs weren't looking towards the house in hopes of food, so this was probably not their mealtime.

He crept low and moved forward until he found a good observation spot under the last trees, then settled in a crouch and watched for a few minutes. He had an urgent sense that there was time, but not much. He knew he could get the first part of his mission over now.

Taking a deep breath, he moved forward.


	3. Chapter Three

He'd decided on the eggs first.

Not only because the cow wasn't in sight. He'd realised that they'd probably milk her in the house before taking her outside. That is, if she still existed. Surely they hadn't eaten her? A milk cow was worth more than a man in these times. He crouched low, creeping forward until he was right up at the fenceline behind the chicken yard. He lay on the ground and used his crowbar to push up carefully on the barbed wire, and wriggled on his back until he was inside the yard’s boundary. He dragged his pack in after him. A few low, running steps brought him to the back of the coup.

The coup was an old shed, accompanied by a run comprised of double layers of chicken wire. He could hear many chickens murmuring inside. He crouched and peered along the side of the coup. There was a padlock on the door of the run, which he frowned at for a moment. Why a padlock? Didn't they trust each other? He could pry it off, but that would make a noise and the damage to the door would betray his presence.

He examined the ground at his feet. The shed was standing on a foundation of bricks. He followed the coup around to one side, where the shed ended and the run began. A white hen pecked at the bare dirt. She looked up at him as he rounded the corner and made a comment in chicken-language.

"Ma'am," he answered.

More chickens appeared in the half-open doorway of the coup. He ignored them and looked at the base and the top of the run. They'd been careful to ensure that it was fox-proof, even to running chicken wire across the top.

Kenny pulled out his pocket-knife and, after another quick glance at the house, crouched low and began cutting through the chicken wire. He was uncomfortably aware that he was exposed to anyone looking out of the side windows. He held his other hand on the wire at first, trying to mask the sound of the wires parting, until he realised it didn't make any difference. He increased his pace and cut a flap through the first layer, then began working on the second.

A loud bellow startled him. He paused to take a deep, shaking breath and made his hands stop trembling. The cow really was in the house, being kept in the front parlour, if he was correct. He heard the clank of a metal bucket. They were about to milk her.

He began working again, and soon had the second flap cut. He pushed both layers inwards and, head down, crawled into the run.

Something tapped at his ear, and then tapped again, more forcefully. On the other side of his head, something pulled at his hair. Were the chickens attacking him? No, of course not, they were just curious. He stopped himself from taking a swipe at them, realising that the sound of a fuss in the chicken run might cause an investigation from the house. Instead, he raised his hand to cup his eye. He only had one left, and this would be a stupid way to lose it.

He stood and pushed open the door to the chicken house. Its hinges squeaked slightly, making him wince. He stepped inside the darkness and found several more chickens sitting in nesting boxes. To his relief, there were three empty boxes, two of them containing an egg. Kenny fumbled in his bag and brought out his little container.

The rooster was in here too, a dark red and brown, strutting fellow who regarded him with the attitude of a gangster whose turf had been violated. It put on a fine display as it stalked him. It also seemed to be telling him off in no uncertain way; Kenny knew swearing when he heard it.

He decided his best bet was to ignore it. He grabbed the eggs and put them into the container, trying to stuff the bit of cloth around them as best he could. He suddenly had the feeling that his time was up. He put the lid on, shoved the container into his pack and cracked the door open to check the scene outside. Still no-one there. It was not full light yet, but it would only be minutes until it was.

The white hen tapped at the toe of his boot.

"Thank you kindly for your hospitality," he told her.

He crawled back through the hole and tried to pull the chicken wire back into shape, then wondered why he was doing it. It wasn't for the bastards who'd beaten him up. He realised that he didn't want harm to come to the chickens. The white hen and two of her friends crowded around the hole, watching his fingers interestedly.

He froze when he heard a door close.

There was still a gap but he had to get going. He hoped that foxes or rats wouldn't get in there because of him. He moved to the fence line and pulled out his crowbar. He heard the heavy thuds of hooves striking a wooden floor, and then the front door screamed open on rusty hinges. He dropped to the ground and rolled, pushing with the crowbar against the barbed wire, then lay still, panting, straining to hear any noises of alarm or pursuit.

He heard the cow walking across the shallow front porch, accompanied by the cajoling voice of a man.

"C'mon there, you come along there, c'mon now, that's it, don't stand on my foot, you ole bitch. Yeah, I know you did it a-purpose. Get going. Come an' get your breakfast."

He was safe.

He lifted his head and saw the cow and the man passing by. The man wore a red jacket against the early morning chill and carried a shotgun over his arm as he led the cow by her halter rope. The man opened a wide gate and brought the cow into a field by the side of the house. Once they were out of sight Kenny didn't wait; he arose to his feet and ran, bent low, into the trees. Then he began circling around through the forest, angling for the field where the cow was kept.

As he neared it he slowed, not wanting to cause any noise so close to the man with the shotgun.

He stayed within the cover of the trees as he crept towards the field, which looked like a bright patch of green morning sunlight from his position in the dimmer forest. He could see the cow, who still wore her halter, but the rope had been removed. Her head was down and she was munching solidly at the grass, her eyes half-closed. Kenny glanced at her udder, and wandered if they'd milked her dry. Had she got a calf somewhere that she needed to feed? Didn't seem so. They'd emptied her, then. He might have to wait for a couple of hours or so before she could give milk again.

He stood, chewing his lip, until he decided he might as well sit down. He settled on a mound of dirt covered in leaf-mould and rummaged in his pack for the ship's biscuit. Hard as hell, but it wasn't bad stuff. He nibbled on it and thought with pleasure of Clementine's reaction when he sprung his surprise upon her.

A crack directly behind him made him jump, and he instinctively rolled aside. A walker reached towards the spot where he had been sitting. He scrambled backwards in the dead leaves and got to his feet.

He pulled out his crowbar, raised it up and brought it down on the walker's head. It stumbled a bit, its head dented, but didn't go down. It rasped and lunged for him again with rotting fingers.

He swung the crowbar at the side of the walker's head, knocking it to the ground. It made soft groaning sounds and tried to struggle upward. A flap of skin hung over its left eye, so it turned its head to look at him with its right.

"Oh, come on! Jesus Christ!" he swore.

One more blow would do it. He raised the crowbar above his head and smacked the walker once more on the head, then again as it subsided into silence.

Something tugged on his backpack and the strap broke. He spun around to see another walker staggering backwards with his pack in its arms.

The backpack dropped to the ground, some of its contents spilling on to the leaves. Kenny killed this one with a furious swipe that ended in an unintentional flourish. He looked wildly around him, turning in a circle five times before he accepted that he was finally alone.

He picked up the backpack and began to put its contents away. He grabbed for the egg container and felt his heart sink. He slowly opened the container, praying under his breath. Both eggs were broken.

"God fucking damn it!" He picked out one of the broken egg shells and threw it at a nearby tree. Then he tipped the rest of the mess into his mouth.

"Shit," he muttered, wiping his mouth on the rag that had proven useless. He would have to choose another moment and go back for more eggs. And, he had to carry his pack by a single strap now, since the other was broken, and that one remaining strap had seen better days.

A glimpse of red made him freeze. He turned his head slowly, and saw the man with the shotgun standing in the field, his jacket glowing crimson in the morning sun. The man peered into the forest, right where Kenny was standing.

Of course they'd guard the cow! he chided himself. Wouldn't you? Why would they leave her to be stolen, or eaten by walkers? That's why they brought her inside the house at night! Jesus, Kenny was not firing on all cylinders today!

The man's stance seemed uncertain. Apparently the man couldn't see him right now, but he would if Kenny moved, so he stood as still as he could and tried not to breathe too loudly. Why wouldn't the guy go away? He'd definitely heard Kenny's struggle with the walkers, but hopefully wasn't sure what he'd heard. And hopefully wouldn't fire the weapon into the forest on the off-chance there was something in there worth hitting.

Jesus, trying to be a tree was not easy when your leg wanted to twitch. In fact, it was agony. He willed the man to go away.

The man continued to stare into the forest, and Kenny continued to stare back. And then Kenny did move, involuntarily, when he heard a tapping on his boot.

He couldn't stop himself from looking down, thinking in his panic that one of the walkers was still alive and grasping at his boot.

"Oh, you're kidding me," he breathed as he stared down at the white chicken. She cocked her head at him and "aawked" expectantly.

He looked up, thinking that the guy would see the white hen in the murk, but the man had gone.

Kenny breathed deeply, in and out, until he felt his ticker slow. The damn chickens had taken advantage of the hole he'd left and gone adventuring, and that would cause a real ruckus soon. This white chicken had gone unexpectedly far from her coup. How had she ended up here, pecking at his boot? She had seemed rather friendly towards him in the chicken run. Could chickens track you?

He stared down at her as he thought. Ok, he had gotten away with this so far. And he had to be smarter now. Much smarter. The chickens might be everywhere now, so these asswipes would be all over the place looking for them. That might be to his advantage.

He wouldn't be getting to the cow, ever. But he had another idea. Looking down at the hen, he realised he had more than that. And, he had lots of ship's biscuit.


	4. Chapter Four

The cow was off limits, but that wasn't what he really wanted, was it?

He wanted the milk.

Kenny took out the lid of the egg container and set it on the ground, then took out his knife and set a slab of ship's biscuit on the lid. Keeping the chicken in his peripheral vision, he proceeded to shave and chop pieces of the biscuit until he had demolished half of the slab. He then chopped those pieces into smaller pieces, while the chicken joyfully foraged for worms and bugs in the leaf mould on the forest floor. He hoped she would stay here for a time without any encouragement, but he would prefer to provide himself a little more insurance on this one.

Soon enough he had enough tiny bits of biscuit to fill his whole hand. He placed a small pile on the ground and made kissy noises at the chicken until she looked at him. He pointed at the pile and she came running, halting a few steps from the food. She cocked her head at the pile, slowly strutting forward. Kenny watched anxiously as she gave an experimental peck.

And then another, and another.

Kenny smiled and scattered the rest of his handful over the ground, spreading it reasonably wide so that the hen would be kept occupied for some time. Then he went to check on the whereabouts of the red-jacketed man.

Through the low-hanging tree canopy at the forest's edge, he saw the guy standing with his gun over his shoulder, his back to Kenny as he stared towards the house.  
"What'd you say?" the red-jacketed guy yelled to someone, out of Kenny's line of vision.

"... ... ... ... fucking everywhere," the answer from the yard came back to Kenny's ears. "... ... highway. Stay with the cow."

"Okay!"

Kenny grinned.

The chicken was happily occupied, so he took his flask from his pack and stuffed it into his pocket, making sure his gun was the only thing in his inside right pocket and easily accessible to his left hand. He flattened his pack as best he could and left it beside a tree, covered with handfuls of leaves. It took him a good five minutes to work his way through the forest until he found his original spot by the chicken coup. There was not a chicken in sight nor was there anyone in the yard, but he heard faint shouts, further towards the highway.

God bless those chickens! He could kiss every one of them, even the rooster.

It took him another five minutes to work his way to the back of the house, using the forest as cover for most of the way. A minute of watching showed no movement in the yard. He was about fifty yards from the steps leading up to the back door, and the pig pen was right in front of him. He heard a few more shouts and knew this was the moment; he went under the barbed wire and ran across the yard.

He made it to the pig pen and crouched below its perimeter, listening. There were no shouts. He edged his face past the side of the pen and peered at the house, looking for any signs of movement. He could see no-one through the windows and he knew the red-jacketed man was on the other side of the house. He tensed his legs to spring forward and damn near shat himself when a roar erupted from above his head and something seized the shoulder of his coat.

Instinctively he pulled away and felt the pressure as his coat ripped. He scrambled away and got to his feet; looking back at the pen, he saw a massive black pig standing with its forelegs hooked over the top of the fence, staring at him with red, angry eyes.

Kenny stared at it in shock. One thing he understood, as he stared into those enraged eyes, was that this pig was not just angry, it was nasty, too. The pig gave a barking roar and Kenny couldn't help trying to shush it.

"Shut up, dumbass! Jesus Christ, shut up! Sshhhhhhhhhhh!" He waved his hands at the pig in what he imagined was a calming way, but it seemed to enrage the animal. The pig reared up even higher, shaking the fence as it threatened to climb over and come after him. It stretched its snout forward and bellowed at him, showing the yellowest teeth Kenny had ever seen.

Kenny gave up and dropped his hands, moving back a few steps. His submission seemed to work. The pig gave one more grunt and gave him a look that carried a promise of retribution if it ever saw him again before pushing its bulk off the fence and lowering itself back into the pen.

Kenny had no idea what he had done to upset the pig. The animal must be possessed or something. Damn it, he was a fisherman, not a farmer.  
He saw that a partition separated it from the other pigs and that it had its own lean-to in the back corner of the pen. Maybe the pig was so mean it couldn’t even live amongst its own kind.

"You okay, man?" came a shout from the cow's field.

"Yeah! Stay with the cow!" he rasped, his voice unintentionally hoarse.

"Did you find the chickens?"

"Not yet!"

"Is Jack with you? Is that you, Jack?"

Kenny raised his hands towards the sky in frustration, and told the truth.

"No!"

There were no further questions. Kenny rolled his eyes and realised there was a reason this guy was set to guarding the cow when there was a crisis.

"Dumbass," he added, under his breath.

He let out a breath. Okay, the back door. He moved towards it, wondering about this fatalistic feeling that whatever happened was going to happen no matter what.

It seemed to take him forever to reach the door. Once he was there, he pressed his forehead against the flaking wood and gave himself a few seconds before trying the door handle. It gave easily under his hand and he eased the door open. It squeaked a little more than he liked.

Inside was a room they were currently using as a drying room, covered in wet weather gear. Beyond that was a darkened hallway. Kenny stood and listened but heard no sounds in the house. He edged along the hallway, checking around the door-frames before passing them, until he reached the kitchen at the other end of the house.

It was warm, very cosy and filled with morning light through the dirt-streaked windows. Dried herbs and masses of braided onions and garlic hung from a long rack attached to one wall. A basket of eggs sat on a Formica counter, along with a Tupperware container holding a weird-looking loaf of yellow bread. Another container held butter. And there, on a smaller table to the side, sat a clean, bright and shiny bucket of milk under a muslin cloth.

Kenny had his flask out in a flash and filled it to the brim. His flask could hold over a pint, so it was more than enough for his purposes. He turned to leave and stopped, mentally slapping himself. He went to the rack on the wall and hung a few rope-braids of onions around his neck, then snatched bunches of rosemary and other herbs and added them to his pockets. He had to sniff to identify them, not being a culinary expert.

There was no point in taking the butter; that would definitely be missed and his goal was to take what he needed and get out without being detected.

He looked around, knowing it was time to go. But his attention was caught by a wide, wooden pantry door. He still had room in his pockets, didn't he? He patted himself down. He did. Right. He opened the door and stood, dumbfounded.

Pasta. Lots and lots of 500 gram packets of dried pasta. There must have been fifty packets in there. What was 500 grams, about a pound? Kenny knew he couldn't turn this down. Easy to cook, high energy food that even a baby could swallow and digest - jackpot!

He had an inkling he knew where they had got it from. The small town he usually looted from had been almost tapped out, so it must be the next town on. The main supermarket there would already be squeezed dry, but from the foreign writing on the packet it looked like they'd found an Italian supermarket, or perhaps a delicatessen. Bastards! Why hadn't he gotten there first?

Because it would have meant a five-day absence from Clem and AJ, that's why.

That day was coming soon, but not quite yet. Kenny put one packet in each of his outer pockets, two packets in his inner right pocket, and after an internal debate, took out his gun and filled his right inner pocket with two more packets. His coat was bulging and the scent of crushed herbs arose around him. He crackled when he moved.

He slowly crept out of the house, gun in hand, closing the door as quietly as he could.

He listened. The men's voices were still shouting reassurance to one another, but they sounded closer and more triumphant. It was likely they were on their way back with the captured chickens and would be here within a minute or two. He had to be gone.

And the shortest way back into the forest was past the pig pen.

He had no time to worry about it. He planned to dash past the pen so fast, that bastard pig wouldn't know he'd been and gone.

He moved down the three steps and raced across the yard, feeling a surge of triumph as he made the distance to the far side of the pen. At that moment a man stepped around the back of the pen and levelled a shotgun at Kenny's head.

"Don't move, asshole."


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's descriptions of injury and violence in this chapter. If you don't particularly like that, please read with caution.

Kenny stared, feeling a shock of fright run through his body. Then he chuckled. He recognised the guy, oh yeah, he did. This was one of those asswipes that had beaten him up and taken his can of beans. The guy was even wearing the same khaki jacket and ripped jeans.

"I reckon if I had a dollar for every time I heard that...I'd have eight bucks and fifty cents."

The guy frowned.

"Whadaya mean...eight bucks and fifty cents? Fifty cents?"

"I shot the guy before he could get to the "asshole" part," Kenny explained. His voice sounded cool and quiet, but his heart felt as though it was trying to escape up his throat. His eyes drifted to the pig pen. He saw a wide black back, trundling around in the rancid mud, right near the fence.

The man's frown changed into a scowl.

"Think you're real smart, dontcha? How smart are you gonna be when the others get back? Reckon they'll hang you this time. Oh yeah, I remember you. You're the one-eyed bastard we taught a lesson a few months ago. Well, we're gonna teach you a harder lesson this time. Drop the gun."

Kenny slowly crouched and put the gun on the ground, then straightened.

"Kick it here," the guy said.

Kenny did, and then backed up a few steps.

"Stop right there," the guy said, matching Kenny step for step. "You run, I will shoot you."

"Fine," Kenny said.

They regarded one another.

"What the hell are you doing back here? Seems dumber than dumb to me."

"Well, as it happens, I remember you, too," Kenny told him dryly, and then his tone hardened. "I came here to trade for milk for a baby and you robbed me. Robbed a man trying’ to feed a baby. Are you proud of yourself?"

"Shut up!" the guy said. "You came back here to steal from us, didn'tcha? Hey, those are our onions!" His eyes travelled down Kenny's length, belatedly realising that the intruder had already carried out his raid. "What's in your pockets? Turn 'em out, now!" He gripped his gun harder against his cheek and made a show of being ready to shoot.

Kenny reached up to his necklace of onions and pulled one loose. The onion skin crackled in his hand. "You ain't gonna shoot me," he told the guy. "There's walkers nearby.   
And, you owe me. You owe the baby, too. I came here to collect."

"We owe you nothin'," the guy said, through gritted teeth. "'Cept an ass-kicking. Give me the onions, and everythin' else you got."

"Here," Kenny said. He aimed, and threw the onion. It went wide of the guy, over the lip of the pen. The khaki guy did not follow its movement, steadfastly concentrating his gun on Kenny, but he looked outraged.

"That's wastin' good food -" the man began, but was interrupted by an outraged squeal. There was a thump against the fence and Kenny saw the black pig rear up behind him. It seized the guy by the upper arm.

Kenny dove to the ground as the shotgun went off. The guy was yelling and the pig made noises that sounded like a dog barking into a tin can. Kenny looked up as the man pulled himself away from the pig, losing the entire arm of the khaki jacket.

The guy was ghastly pale as he backed up. His face was still a rictus. He breathed hard, his eyes wide with fright, and regarded the pig with the kind of fear and hatred reserved for one who gave him nightmares. He looked down at his bare arm, which looked pallid in the morning light. The shoulder of his t-shirt was torn and reddened skin showed underneath.

The pig hung with its chest on the fence, its front trotters scrabbling for purchase and the jacket sleeve dangling from its mouth. Its eyes were fixed on the guy with malicious enmity.

"Get down from there!" the guy said. He brought the butt of the shotgun down on the pig's head.

The pig screeched in pain. The guy raised the butt again threateningly, and the pig hauled itself off the fence and disappeared. Kenny and the guy both stared at the place where the pig had been.

Kenny could see the pig’s back as it made its way to the rear of the pen. It turned, and paused for a moment, as if reflecting on what had happened. Or, as if making a decision. The guy was still transfixed. Kenny made his own decision in that moment, but as he began to move toward his gun, the guy swung the shotgun to point at him.

“Stay there - “

They both jumped when the fence rocked forward with a blow that must have come from the pig throwing its entire weight at the enclosure.

Kenny had a feeling that the pig had only been playing up until now.

"Oh, shit," said the guy, and that was all he had time for.

The pig threw itself forward, smashing the thin metal panel flat to the ground. It barrelled straight at the guy, who went over backwards and lost his grip on the shotgun.

Kenny dove forward, grabbed his own gun out of the dirt and ran straight to the fence. He tried to ignore the sounds behind him. He'd heard of people being savaged by pigs, eaten alive by them, but he'd seen enough people eaten alive and had no wish to see it again.

The guy was still screaming as Kenny slipped under the barbed wire, the pasta packets sounding like artillery in his ears as he rolled. He stood and ran to the forest. From the relative safety of the tree line, he found himself looking back, even though he didn't want to. He didn't know why he looked back, only that he should.

He saw the shape of the guy on the ground and the giant bulk of the pig. The pig looked even more enormous when measured against a man who was lying on the ground, and was as busy as a pig with murderous intent could be. The other partition had collapsed and the other pigs started to mill around him, too. But the thing that would stick in Kenny's mind the most was the sight of the little piglets, nosing interestedly around the soon-to-be-corpse.

Oh my God, it was a Momma pig. No wonder she was so mean.

He heard shouting and saw men running across the yard towards their fallen companion, drawn by the sound of the shotgun. Some of them carried flapping hens by their feet. Kenny moved slowly away from the scene, trying not to crackle too loudly. When he felt there was enough distance he picked up his pace, although he moved through the forest carefully. That shotgun blast would draw other things, too, and he didn't want to run headlong into them.

He arrived back at the place where he'd left his pack and the white chicken. She was easy to spot in the dimmer light, and when he saw where she was, he snorted a laugh.

"Ma'am, I'm gonna have to ask you to sit somewhere else " he told her as she nested on his backpack.

She showed no inclination to comply, so he gently pushed her aside and reached into his pack for his water bottle. He took several swigs, listening hard to the distant voices as he drank. There was still a lot of shouting going on; it sounded like the pigs were being rounded up. If the khaki guy survived, he'd tell about Kenny. He had to go now.

He hurriedly took the onions from around his neck and shoved them into his pack, then took the pasta packets out of his pockets and shoved them in there, too. He scooped out the herbs and threw them on top. Well, his pack would smell nice for a while. He slipped his arm through the single strap and prayed that it would hold.

And this was the moment he was dreading.

Kenny stared at the chicken nervously for a few seconds and then scooped her up, one hand around her chest and the other across the wings on her back. She flapped and clucked, panicking, and he nearly dropped her.

"Ssshh," he whispered. She still flapped; he was going to lose her in a second.

As he struggled to stop her from flying out of his hands, shouts came to his ears from the direction of the house.

"He didn't come from the highway, so check the east boundary! Jack! Mike! Get over there and find him."

Kenny swore and decided to be tough with the chicken. He shoved her under his coat so her wings were trapped, and changed his grip so that his hand came up outside the jacket to support her from underneath.

"No, the other east! Jesus, you guys!" shouted the same voice. “Don’t come back without him!”

Kenny ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe there are nine chapters in total for this story, so four more to go!


	6. Chapter Six

Kenny ran in the wrong direction.

The chicken flapped and squawked under his coat as he ran through the trees. His backpack bounced behind his shoulder and occasionally flakes of herbs would fall out of his pocket. He could hear the voices behind him.

They had guns and he didn't think they were very bright. A bad combination. All they had to do was glimpse him ahead of them and they might start firing.

He ran up a rise, feeling the strain in his legs. He would have to lose these guys as soon as he could. He could not let them follow him all the way back to the cabin; if he couldn't shake them, then he couldn't go home. Not unless...

Not unless he killed them.

It was a matter-of-fact thought.

His gun, pocketed in his coat under the bulk of the hen, made his coat swing against his thigh. An equal weight hung in the opposite pocket, that being the flask of milk.

He’d prefer not to use the gun unless he was out of options. He would have to spend some time going in the wrong direction until he lost these guys.

As he made it to the crown of the rise, the trees thinned and he glanced up at the sky. The position of the sun told him it was about an hour past dawn.

He had to shake them, now.

The top of the rise was clear of trees and was covered in fresh grass. He ran easily across it. As he headed down into the trees on the far side, he saw an outcropping of rock on the downward-sloping ground. Kenny slipped underneath it and took a breather while he listened. The shouting had stopped, which was a bad thing from his perspective, but as he listened he heard the birds go quiet.

It seemed like good ole' Jack and Mike had gone into Stalking mode.

If neither of them had tracking skills, they could wander in the wrong direction and bypass his hiding-place. If that happened, he would double-back and make his way home at a much more leisurely pace.

If not...

He pulled his gun out and waited, one arm still curled around the hen inside his jacket.

She had gone very quiet, too, and was no longer struggling. He stared down at her, hoping he hadn't squeezed her too hard. She was alert, her head cocked and very still.

A rasp from his left made his head snap around. A walker stepped out of the trees and slowly made its way to the slope. Kenny stayed motionless, realising that the walker hadn't spotted him, as he looked down upon it from under the overhanging rock. He watched as the ragged thing lurched around the base of the slope, taking the easier route of "around" rather than "up".

Another walker followed, then two more.

Kenny felt very exposed. If only one of the walkers looked a little higher and saw him, he'd have four walkers and two humans on his trail and the moment he fired his gun at one group, he'd alert the other.

He heard a man murmuring from the slope above his head, and then a "Ssh!"

The murmuring began again almost immediately. This time, Kenny clearly heard the response.

"Will you shut the fuck up?"

The first walker was almost out of sight but at the sound of a human voice, it seemed to find new purpose and swung around to follow the sounds up the hill.

The other walkers rasped as they turned to follow.

They left Kenny’s field of vision and he saw, in his mind’s eye, their feet clambering over the rock above his head. Kenny breathed out, then gave the dead things another quarter minute before he put his gun in his pocket, got to his feet and ran.

He heard gunfire. Those idiots! Guns were always a last resort. Birds took off from the trees, flapping in panic as shot after shot was fired. Holy Jesus, what were those two assholes doing? They must have gotten off ten or twelve shots each. Two guys with machetes or hatchets should be able to handle four walkers quietly, if they had any idea of what they were doing. Now they'd draw more walkers. He had to get out of the area.

But first, he had a small task to perform.

He put the hen on the ground and watched her nervously as he rummaged in an outer pocket of his pack and pulled out a pocket knife. The hen scooted several feet away from him and began strutting around uncertainly, too unsettled to start foraging. He murmured to her softly as he cut a small patch from his coat and hung it on an outthrust twig on a tree branch before refolding the knife and putting it in his pants pocket, where, he thought ruefully, he should have been keeping it in the first place. He broke a few twigs from the branch and was pleased with the result. It looked pretty obvious to him that someone had run through here in a panic.

Time to go. The hen tried to run, then panicked and flapped as he swooped down on her.

He ran deeper into the forest, then slowed to a jog. The sounds of gunfire had stopped. It was probably too much to hope that those guys had died. He slowed again to a walk, catching his breath, and was glad he did when he saw a walker come out of the trees directly ahead of him.

Half of its jaw was gone and masses of matted hair hung over its face. It stumbled toward him and flung out an arm. He moved to the side and ducked.

He had to give up the idea of the gun; those guys were too close. His crowbar was in his pack. In order to get it, he would have to put the hen down. He had the feeling that this time she would make a bid for freedom if he did. Fuck that. He dodged to the right as the walker came at him again, and ran on.

He slowed to a jog once the walker was out of sight. He changed direction and began circling back towards the farm. The idea was to double-back, almost to the farm, and start again, eventually changing course for home. He would be travelling behind Jack and Mike for a while, until they veered away and left his route idiot-free. They weren't trackers, he knew that much by now.

He slowed to a walk, and changed course again when he smelled the woodsmoke from the farmhouse.

The sun told him where he was. He walked east, then north-east, knowing he was pretty much following in the footsteps of his pursuers. In fact, he came across their bootprints a couple of times. Man, those guys meandered all over the place.

The hen said "Baw" now and then, and scrabbled her feet against the interior of his coat in her demand to be put down. Kenny had no time for that. He wanted to get around the dense, walker-infested part of the forest before sundown. He had no intention of going straight through that dreadful place this time.

He walked, and swigged water, and didn't stop for more than a minute, not even for lunch. He only halted to fish his crowbar and the ship's biscuit out of his pack, one-handed, as he was still nervous about putting the hen on the ground again. He didn't want to spend the afternoon chasing her. And what if she flew up into a tree? Kenny had no idea if hens could fly; he'd never seen them do it. Maybe they were a bit like ostriches, a bird that couldn't fly. He didn't know, so he wasn't going to risk it.

Every hour or so, he poured a half-capful of water for the hen and held it under her beak. She seemed to find it familiar; Kenny watched with relief as she nibbled at the water and he remembered there'd been some automatic feeders in her pen.

"Not so different, is it, Ma'am?" he told her.

She nearly took his finger off when he offered her some Ship's Biscuit.

He walked until mid-afternoon, and by then, his legs and back were letting him know they were going to ache something awful tonight. Didn't matter; this time tomorrow, he would be back with Clem and AJ and could look forward to a cupcake and a real bed.

He was making good time. By late afternoon he began to notice the increasing gloom and the thicker undergrowth; this was the beginning of the no-go zone. He veered south and found himself walking down an embankment. He smelled water and saw flashes of golden sun glittering on moving water, behind a screen of trees. He pushed through the growth and stood blinking at the sharp sparks of late daylight thrown by the ripples.

And there, sitting on the embankment, no more than thirty yards away, were Jack and Mike, their feet bare and dangling in the water as they shared a cigarette.  
He froze, realising they weren't looking upstream and hadn't seen him yet, but that wouldn't do any good. He was exposed on the bank. There were no trees to hide behind here. He turned, and ran.

"Hey! That's him!"

He heard them scrambling up the embankment after him.

He made it back to the tree line and the trees whipped by him; an outreaching branch left a stinging cut on his forehead. The hen made a startled noise and then went quiet. He could feel her feet gripping the inside of his coat tightly.

He couldn't believe it. He'd underestimated just how dumb these guys were. They'd missed the signs he'd left for them and continued to the stream to wet their little pink feet, the goddam lazy, useless muppets! He'd already shifted gears to adjust to their dumbass level and he'd still overshot the mark!

"Shoot him, shoot him, quick!"

"Man, I can't, I gotta be sure! I only got two bullets! Ah, my boot!”

Kenny set his gaze on the dark, dreadful territory ahead. The forest-within-a-forest that had nearly got him killed on the way in. Going through there was like running the gauntlet. And now, as the sun was setting and the light was fading, he would have to do so again.

He ran forward, into the gloom.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty dark. Mainly violence and sadness. If you're not interested in reading that, please skip this chapter.

Now, where would you NOT want to be just as darkness was falling?

Wading through an alligator-infested swamp. In a crowded stadium just before the bomb goes off.

Or here.

The gloom fell over him immediately. Kenny looked around, blinking and trying to adjust. The trees were huge, towering up to a couple of hundred feet. They were old, exuding an eerie feeling of stillness and conspiracy. A strange type of vine ran through the trees, knitting them together and tangling over the ground in massive, rope-like formations. It would be easy to trip up here. He would have to pay more attention to his feet than anything else.

He snorted. Walkers before him, and gun-toting yahoos behind. Oh, jumping, joyful Jesus!

It was cool, though. Kenny realised just how hot he was when the deep shade passed over him. He was drenched with sweat and it prickled his face and back. He felt light-headed. He needed water, now, and a good rest, but he didn't have the time.

As if to emphasise his unmet needs, he heard the voices of the two men, a little muffled.

"Not going in there. Here, gimme some of that water."

"We gotta."

"Nah, we don't gotta. He's a dead man."

There was a pause as someone glugged from the water bottle.

"You shouldna worn your red jacket, Mike."

"Why?"

"If he's got a gun, he'll see your red jacket in there and shoot you."

Damn straight, thought Kenny. You've got me in a corner here, boys, and I do believe my options are limited. Though, I'm gonna be really pissed at having to fire a gun in here; that would make me as stupid as the two of you.

"He's got more to worry about than I do."

"Whatta we tell the others?" asked the voice Kenny now knew was Jack's.

"What I said we was gonna say, when we was at the river. We killed him."

"Jim ain't happy with us, Mike."

"Jim can go and…oh, shit. We gotta bring proof. Jim will wanna know he ain't coming back."

"Yeah, and if this asshole comes back to the farm again, we're dead."

Kenny thought they must be no more than thirty feet away as they psyched themselves up to entering the dense, jungle-like depths. He knew that he had an advantage – the darkness. They would be coming in from the light. His eyes had adjusted; theirs would take a minute or so as they stood in the darkness. They would be outlined by the dying sunlight.

He drew his gun and waited. His heart began to pound in anticipation.

He saw them through the trees; the red-coated, cow-minding man who must be Mike and the other man, Jack, wearing khaki. Mike had his shotgun. Jack had a revolver. They crept forward, past the boundary where the dead leaves gave way to the vines, peering about cautiously. They obviously knew as much or more about this place than he did and expected a walker attack at once.

Kenny lined the red-coated man up as well as he could with a one-handed grip. He slipped the safety off and placed his finger alongside the trigger. As soon as they were past the first line of trees he would shoot them both, then run like hell past them and get out of this creepy old place.

Mike stopped in his tracks.

"Wait, I got a better idea," he said, hefting his weapon meaningfully. "I got plenty of ammo. He ain't far."

Through the concealing trunks, Kenny saw him make a movement and heard the shotgun being pumped. The dude was going to fire indiscriminately into the forest, spraying shot everywhere, just as Kenny had feared he would when he had been spying on him and the cow.

But they knew about the walkers! What the hell kind of dumb kids had their mothers raised?

Kenny took off once more.

"Hey!"

"Get him!"

"Damn it…"

He passed a tree with an impressive girth and jumped sideways to get behind it. He heard the blast and the hen under his arm squawked in surprise, trying to flap her wings under his coat. He heard the shot strike the ground around him. He took off again towards the next tree, leaping over an uneven lump of vines that had climbed over something on the ground. The hen began protesting like an outraged old matron.

"Sorry," he whispered to her.

He made it to the tree in time for the next blast. He felt the hen jump in fright again. He didn't wait but ran again, trying to keep both his destination and his intended path in his limited field of vision.

The vines were as treacherous as he'd feared. He turned his ankle when his foot came down in between two thick ropes that criss-crossed the ground. He ran on, praying his ankle wasn't wrenched, and offered up a prayer of thanks when he found it wasn't. It held magnificently as he made it to the next tree, a smaller specimen than the last but still up to the task of shielding him from the shot.

And then he heard the rasp.

He pointed his gun around the dimness but could see nothing coming towards him. Where had the walker come from? His blood pounded in his ears, which didn't help. Where the hell was it?

He heard the scream and froze.

"Kill it, kill it, kill it, oh Jesus, just kill it!"

"Yeah, I'm…just wait, I'm…"

Kenny crouched low and peered around the tree.

He saw the two men, just behind and to the left of the tree whose company he had just left. Mike lay screaming on the ground in his red jacket, right on top of the lump of vines Kenny had just leapt over. The ragged, rotting torso of a walker arose from the vines, its upright position allowing it to loom over him. The walker was bald but for a long fringe of hair around its head and wore only the remnants of a garment, which hung around its neck. One of its hands was clamped around Mike's ankle; the other grasped at the man's stomach.

Mike's shotgun lay three feet away, where it had flown out of his hands.

Jack fumbled frantically with his revolver. In a panic, he pointed it at the walker's head and there was a bang as he fired a shot at the walker's face. The walker's ear and part of its hair blew away into the mess of vines but it barely seemed to notice as it continued to claw at Mike's body. It succeeded in plunging a withered hand into his abdomen.

Both men screamed.

The walker's legs weren't visible and Kenny wasn't sure it had any. It still managed to lever itself forward as it hauled bloody grey ropes out of Mike's abdomen. Mike flung up a hand to push the walker's jaw away from him. His fingers pushed a hole through the skin of the walker's face, exposing square white teeth that appeared to be in surprisingly good shape. The walker quickly turned its head and caught the base of Mike's pinkie finger in its jaws.

Jack's screaming had died down to an incomprehensible gibbering. He placed his revolver against the walker's forehead and pulled the trigger. Something unpleasant shot out of the back of the walker's head and it flopped sideways, Mike's pinkie sticking out of the side of its face.

Jack continued to pull the trigger, his revolver dry-clicking. He sobbed until Mike's fast-paced, terrified breathing pattern finally got through to him and he dropped the gun. He fell to his knees beside his companion.

Kenny watched the red-jacketed man shaking in shock. His clothes were soaked dark with blood and he didn't have long to live, maybe minutes. It was Kenny's opportunity to slip away. And yet, he watched as Jack took Mike's hand.

"I'm sorry, man, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. So sorry."

"End…it,” said Mike, his voice low and under careful control. “End…me. Now."

Tears ran off the end of Jack's nose. "I can't, I'm out." He picked his revolver off the ground and waved it in Mike's face. "I didn't bring enough, I'm sorry…"

"Shotgun!" Mike gasped. "Dumbass."

Jack looked around, finally spotting it lying in the vines. He scuttled over to it. He cracked it open and checked it, then brought it over to Mike.

"I can't do it, Mike, you're all I got left," he pleaded.

"Gonna die," Mike said. "Don't…DON'T…let me…be like them. I'll fucking kill you if…"

His eyes rolled up. His face slackened, and he began convulsing.

Jack pointed the long barrel at Mike's head and suddenly seemed to have trouble breathing. The barrel wavered and Kenny realised that Jack had shut his eyes. It shouldn't make much difference, a shotgun blast from this close, but Jesus, the man had to do it right.

Kenny drew his knife and stepped out of his hiding place.

"Stop," he said, just as the blast ended Mike's life.

“Damn,” Kenny muttered.

Jack stood looking at the mess, then glanced up, his face pale. His reddened eyes met Kenny's one-eyed gaze.

"You did this," he said, his voice quavering. "If it weren't for you, none of this woulda happened."

"You people started this," Kenny told him roughly. "And now you got a man dead of being eaten by pigs, and another dead by walker attack. If you'd been decent folks from the start, would this have happened? Naw. Now your friend is dead. Was it worth robbing a little baby?”

"He's my cousin, not my friend," Jack said, and sniffed. "What baby?"

Kenny rolled his eye. "You robbed me the first time I came here a few months back. I asked for milk for a baby and you took my can of beans and beat me up. You were there; I remember you."

"I's just doing what the others were doing. I had orders."

"Were they orders worth following?"

This seemed to be too hard a question. Jack hefted the shotgun in his hands and pointed it at Kenny. It seemed a half-hearted gesture.

"Gonna rob the kids again, are you?" Kenny said. "They need me to feed them. A baby and a little girl. Their names are AJ and Clementine. The baby is four months old. The little girl can't provide for him on her own."

"I have to shoot you. I have to finish the job," Jack said miserably.

"No, you don't. I was gonna help you with your friend, your cousin, here. Why else did I come back? Seems you didn't need my help in the end. You did a good job. Now go home, Jack."

"I…don't wanna…home…it ain't good there. They don't treat us right. Mike was all I had, and now…" New tears began leaking from the guy's eyes. "What am I gonna do?"  
"Well, we can't stay here all night. You guys have been blasting away and…"

He fell silent, his head turning. He heard it.

"Listen," he whispered.

Jack turned his head in imitation of Kenny, and went very still as he was hit with realisation. Many rustling noises. Many gasps and murmurs and dry, throaty rasps.  
"You've brought them here with all your noise," Kenny said, his voice soft but urgent. "Let's both get out of this viney shit and run."  
He took advantage of Jack's hesitation and bolted back in the direction they'd all come from. It couldn't be more than a hundred feet. He soon found himself slowing, placing his feet carefully, feeling for the tough, ropey vines before he trusted the ground with his weight. The light was nearly all gone; in another ten minutes, it would be as black as the inside of a lawyer's briefcase in here.

He wondered if Jack would decide to shoot him in the back instead. Up ahead, he saw the last of the rich, golden afternoon sunlight creeping through a grassy clearing and he knew he would make it.

It was only then that he realised he was alone. Jack was not following him.

He made it to the very last of the vines and turned around, trying to peer into the darkness to see whether Jack was trailing along behind him. He saw nothing. He heard the growing murmur of a walker herd and knew he had no time. Kenny considered himself to be a good man, whenever he could be. But he wasn't that good. He wouldn't go back in there right now if he was promised a banquet meal and a date with a Russian bikini-model every night of his life.

There was an echoing blast, muffled slightly by the ancient trees. Kenny judged the sound had come from about one hundred feet…which meant that Jack hadn't moved from his spot. A sudden intuition told Kenny what had happened. Jack had decided not to go home, after all.

Aw, crap.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, still deciding some aspects on the story.
> 
> If you've seen The Walking Dead show, you might recognise someone from there. If you haven't, don't worry, there aren't any spoilers at this point.

Kenny stepped out into the last rays of the sun, filtering through the leaves. It was fresher out here, where the forest was less dense, less haunted. The day was cooling off. He would be grateful for his coat tonight.

He could hear the rasps and gasps from the darkness behind him. He had a little time; the vines snaking all over the ground were keeping the walkers from being too mobile. Even a man watching his steps could not avoid accidents in there, and the walkers never watched where they put their feet. Even then, one or two of them might get lucky. He opened his water-flask one-handed and took a grateful swig, then another. He offered a capful to the hen. She was thirsty, too. And probably hungry, just like him.

Man, he was getting tired of carrying her. He switched her to the other side and carefully unfolded his arm. It almost seemed to creak as he stretched it out. He knew he wasn't thinking straight. He was exhausted. His body needed more water and he hadn't pissed all day; his body seemed to be soaking up every bit of moisture he had. He was getting to the point of not being hungry anymore, which wasn't good, either. He needed food, whether he wanted it or not.

But first, he had to get away from here.

He shivered, fancying that the smell of the walkers was getting stronger. He had gotten used to the smell of rotting things. As a fisherman, he had known the smell of fish, blood and guts. The smell of a rotting human being was used to make him gag in the early days. Now, it was commonplace. His brain now registered it as a danger instead of a horror.

He turned away and made his way down to the water. He stood on the bank and contemplated its apparently slow-moving flow. He had no idea how deep it was. The light wasn't good enough to see the bottom. He sighed and went searching among the riverbank trees until he found a long, sturdy stick. Then he sat down on the bank and took off his boots, one-handed, and put them in his pack. There was probably no point in rolling up his trouser legs.

With the hen tucked under his arm and his pack on his back, he waded into the river, wincing as the cold water embraced his feet and ankles. He poked ahead of him with the stick, feeling for depth and current. He judged he was about a third of the way across when it washed up to his knees. A poke with his stick confirmed that the next step would be thigh-depth. He hoped he wouldn't have to swim. All he knew was dog-paddle and he couldn't do that holding on to a hen.

He kept moving, his attention divided between the stick and the far bank. The water arose up to his privates and he strained his shoulders upward, trying to keep the hem of his coat as dry as he could, it being the only blanket he'd have tonight.

At that thought, a malicious swell in the water wet his coat by a couple of inches from the hem. He swore and looked back. He was nearly halfway across. He fixed his attention on his forward direction and poked; it appeared the bottom of the river was deeper than this.

He sank to his hips. He reached forward and poked with the stick. A little lower. He stepped deeper into the flow. Poke, step. He had to be past the halfway point now. Poke, step. Surely the river-bottom should be rising now? Poke, step. To his elbows. The current was beginning to pull at his body and he had to lift and set his feet firmly. Poke, step. The water was eating its way up his coat. He had to adjust the chicken so that she sat on his chest, and God was that awkward! She started to flap and he tried not to panic. Poke, step. The pack on his back was inches from the water. He couldn't let the pasta be ruined, either. Poke, step. Had he bitten off more than he could chew?

Jeez, don't let this all be in vain. I can't lose the hen after all this.

Poke. Upward. He grinned.

The last part of the river seemed so easy, a five-year-old could walk it. He squished up the far bank, water streaming from his clothes. Only his chest and shoulders were dry. He would need a fire tonight.

He paused to put on his boots and looked back at his route across the water. He saw one dark figure in the tree-line on the far bank, staggering like a drunk. It would never make it across the river, not in a direct line, anyway. Thank God he now had the river between him and that awful place.

Kenny set off for the East.

His clinging trousers hindered his stride. He needed a building, something with four walls for protection. The twilight showed no tell-tale straight lines on the horizon, only tree tops. A part of his tired mind started to dwell on his predicament. He could find a clearing and start a fire, use his rattle-traps and get an hour or two's rest…but he needed a lot more than that and he knew it.

Abruptly, he found himself approaching a break in the trees and in the next dozen steps, he was gazing at a gravel road.

It was a rutted road, where years of rain had washed away the padding of crushed rock, creating the ruts underneath. It was dotted with weeds. In the fading light, he walked across it, searching for tyre-patterns. There were none, so no-one with a vehicle had used this road in a while. He brightened.

Roads meant buildings along the way and unused roads might mean abandoned buildings. The road ran North-East/South-West, so he chose the North-East direction and began walking.

He tried to calculate in his mind how far he was from the highway. A couple of hours’ walk, maybe. And maybe eight hours' walk from the farm. With all the doubling back, running and walking he'd done, his tired brain was having trouble with the maths. Which meant that he was about ten hours' walk from Clementine and AJ.

It was a still, clear night. The stars came out in full force and he gazed up at them from time to time. Duck and Katjaa both had been fascinated by the stars. He hadn't cared for them much except as a navigation tool. His wife and son hadn't seen the sense in the traditional mumbo-jumbo regarding Aries and Scorpio and such; they'd made up their own names for the constellations. He'd been unable to see "The Fat Guy" and "Angry Face" but "the Fly Swatter" had made him laugh.

It was when he was looking at the Fly Swatter that his gaze caught the oddness of a silhouette against the sky. Something that didn't fit in with the uniformity of the black treetops, but instead looked like…a corner of a roof.

He increased his pace, looking for a side track or road. A mile on, he found it.

It was another gravel road, narrower than the one he'd just travelled and in worse condition. The weeds had nearly choked it out; if he hadn't been looking for it, he would have missed it. Tree branches crossed overhead, creating a tunnel. He sighed. The moon's light didn't shine in there. He found himself not caring much as he drew his knife.

This concealed road was dark, but it didn't have the unhealthy, nightmare atmosphere of the denser forest he'd escaped from earlier today. He thought he'd have to give that place a name – Walker's Forest seemed a good name for it. The first thing he'd do when he got home, after giving the kids a hug, was warn Clementine to never, ever go in there. Ever.

The off-white gravel was the only thing he could make out with his single eye. He followed it for a quarter mile until the trees petered out and the starlight bloomed again, illuminating his destination as he came to a halt in surprise.

A triple-story dwelling sat before him, Gothic style. It was a mansion from another era and gave out an aura of age, history and neglect. It had the feel of a home built centuries ago for a plantation owner, or an ostentatious and successful pirate. He raised his eyes to the roofline and nodded. This was the building he'd seen from the road.

A circular driveway, barely visible amongst the grasses growing through it, surrounded an overgrown garden bed. The portico was enormous, framing a heavy-looking front door. He couldn't make out much more detail than this and wished he had come upon it in the daytime. It was a bit creepy.

Kenny didn't believe in ghosts and had often said so until Katjaa had told him she'd seen a ghost once. Katjaa was a well-educated, smart woman and he believed her, so he'd shut his mouth about it after that. Looking at this old house now, he wished she'd left him in ignorance.

Oh well, maybe there was a garden shed or barn around the back. He trudged around the building, stepping over creepers and avoiding Spanish moss as he made his way to the back of the property. And, yep, here it was. Kenny gazed at the barn thankfully.

It was large and sturdy, although the creepers were climbing up the exterior walls and would probably pull it down within another decade. He went to the double doors at the front end and rattled them, then listened for activity. Nothing.

He pulled at the door on the left and it squealed open. He cringed, imagining the noise so loud it would draw walkers. Beyond was nothing but a rectangle of darkness.

He stepped inside and gave himself a minute for his sight to adjust. After a few moments, he noticed there were windows high in the walls, above what appeared to be stalls for horses. A little brightness came in from these windows, giving him a sense of the space before him.

He could smell hay and dust and oiled machinery. He shuffled his feet forward and let his vision settle a little more. He scratched at his cheek with his knife as he made out a clear space about ten feet from the doors. That would be a good spot for a fire.

He felt a presence in the space behind him. Before he had time to turn around, someone seized his hair and jerked his head back. A woman's voice said:

"Drop the knife."

The woman sure had a good grip on him and the knife was firm under his jaw. He felt the strain of the hairs on his head as they tried to part from his scalp. He slowly opened his fingers and dropped the knife, listening to the sound of it hitting the dirt and his own heartbeat as he tried to work out what would happen next.

"Both your hands up, now," said the woman.

"Er," Kenny said. "I can't do that, Ma'am."

The hen said, “Bock!”, then aawked and shifted under his coat.

"What the heck?" said the woman. "Step away three paces and turn around."

"I didn't mean to trespass," he said, slowly and carefully moving his feet. "I'm just tryin' to get home."

As he turned, he saw the shape in front of him. Not a small woman. She appeared to have short hair, either blonde or grey. He thought she was middle-aged.

She studied him in turn, and oh man, did she have a big knife! It caught the starlight from a window and flashed at him.

"Have you got a chicken under your coat?" she asked, her tone incredulous.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Where did you get it?"

"From a farm back West a ways."

"Hmm," she said. "Did you steal it?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he said, and grinned when he said it.

"So, you're a thief," she told him.

"Hey, they stole from me and my kids first!"

"Kids?"

"Yeah, I have a girl and a baby boy."

She gestured with the knife. "Where are they?"

"A ways from here. I'm goin' home to them. My name's Kenny-"

"I don't care what your name is. What are you doing here?"

Kenny sighed and stopped trying to be charming. The tiredness rushed over him in a wave, bringing with it a nausea that twisted his face.

"Just need a place to rest, that's all. Jesus help me, I been through enough the last couple days. I need a fire and sleep and food. That's all I want. Then to get home without nosey old biddies threatenin' me with knives. Is that too much to ask?" He directed the question at the rafters.

The woman was silent. He shook his head and looked down at his feet.

"I can't let you take the hen," he said softly. "That's mine."

"I'm not going to take your hen," the woman said. She considered him a while longer.

"You're swaying on your feet," she finally said, letting the knife down to her side – but still ready, in case he made a move. "You can rest down here. I'll be up in the loft. I don't need to tell you what will happen if you disturb me while I'm up there."

She moved forward and scooped up his knife. "You can have this back in the morning."

He closed his eyes in relief as she moved to the back of the barn and began climbing a ladder. "Thank you."

She didn't answer. Kenny looked around himself again and finally the moment had come. He crouched and gently put the hen on the ground.

He thought she'd take off, flapping, but she stood where he'd put her, almost glowing in the dark she was so white. He realised she was sleepy. Of course, he thought. It was night time. Most birds had an off-switch or something when the sun went down.

He shrugged out of his backpack and put it against the wall. Then he stretched, leaning backwards, and pushed both his arms out forward as far as they would go. He worked his shoulders and tipped his head back. There was pain and pleasure in his movements. Oh man, he wouldn't want to go through all this again. And carrying that damn hen all day. He'd have to do it again tomorrow. But for now, there was relief.

"Aahh."

"If you've finished your Thai Chi, then shut the door," said the woman from above.

"I have to make a fire to dry myself out," he called up to her. "And I need food. I can't see too good, so I gotta leave the door open a bit longer."

She muttered something, but not for his ears, so he took out his drink bottle and drank a good amount of water. He poured the hen another capful and left it on the ground in front of her. She dipped her beak a few times but as soon as she saw the Ship's Biscuit in his hand, she flew at his thighs in an effort to get at it.

"Okay!" he laughed, startled. "Easy, Ma'am!"

"What?" came the voice from above.

"Nothin'. I was talkin' to the hen."

He broke the biscuit in two and bent to put half on the ground. She followed his hand down with her beak, already nibbling at it before it hit the dirt. Kenny had been going to break it up for her but shrugged and left her to it.

"Just gonna get some wood," he called up to the loft. He wasn't expecting an answer, but he got one.

"There's a wood-shed behind the barn. There's plenty there."

He stepped out into the night and pushed the door to, so that the hen wouldn't try to follow him or escape. He made his way around to the back of the barn. There was a wood-shed there, already broken into. The door had been smashed in. He wondered how long the woman had been living here.

He took an armful of logs back to the barn and went back for kindling. The hen was fine, pecking away at the biscuit. She must have a sharp beak. He brought in enough wood to keep the fire going for a several hours and then carefully brushed away any hay from the area. As he did so, his hand encountered a depression in the floor and a dark substance that seemed weightless in his hand. He sniffed it. Charcoal. He glanced up at the loft, then shrugged. If this was her home, then it was none of his business and he owed her thanks for her hospitality.

He carefully built the fire and then lit it. The interior of the barn came to life and he saw the ride-on mower and the wood-turning machine against the far wall, both sources of the oil and gas odours. He closed the barn door against the night and watched over his fire.  
Soon the kindling had done its job and the fire had caught the larger pieces; he felt the warmth beginning to brush against his skin and something bone-deep seemed to melt within him. At the same time, he felt colder. 

His trousers were unpleasantly icy against his legs. He added the larger logs, then after looking nervously up at the loft, decided not to take off his trousers to dry them. Instead, he slowly turned himself around like a pig on a spit, letting each side get hot before exposing his next side to the heat of the flames.

He felt warm enough to take off his jacket. He laid it down before the fire and felt the warmth begin to seep through his T-shirt. It was amazing what a good fire could do for a wet, cold and tired man. With one discomfort taken care of, he realised how hungry he was. He went to his pack to get a can of beans and sighed.

"Ma'am, you simply cannot have your way in this."

He'd left it unzipped but still had to tip her off the backpack in order to reach in and grab the can and his fork, both of which had worked their way right down to the bottom, underneath all the pasta. She BAWKED and pecked his hand.

"I do apologize," he told her. "You can have your bed back now."

She fluttered up and plumped herself back on top of the pack, where she sat there with narrowed, half-shut eyes as if daring him to do it again. He opened the can and set it in the coals. He gave it a stir now and then and let himself be mesmerized by the flames.

It was only when he suddenly saw the beans bubbling in the can that he realised he'd been asleep sitting up, or in a trance of some kind. He picked up his jacket and used it to pick up the can and felt it trying to sear his fingers through the cloth. He set the can down in the dirt and took the first forkful to his mouth, blowing on it first to cool it.

It felt like an explosion of flavour in his mouth. His stomach woke up at that very moment and started roaring, like a lion poked with a stick. He shovelled the beans into his mouth as fast as he could. When he was halfway through the can he suddenly looked up, straight into the eyes of the short-haired woman. He hadn't heard her approach. She smiled a little.

"Do you have any spare?" she asked. "I didn't eat, yesterday."

He slowly handed her the can and the fork. He was still ravenous, and as she reached for the can, he was afraid his fingers wouldn't let go of it. He reminded himself firmly that he owed her something.

He watched her as she ate. She was grey-haired and her face was lined a little, but she was not old-looking, and her eyes were a sharp blue. She was not exactly pretty, but not plain, either. She had a good face, a face full of character, and he liked it.

"I have all the cooking utensils in the world," the woman mumbled, through a mouthful of beans. She waved the fork at the wall, where he saw an old cast-iron cooking pot and what he now realised was a spit and a long pair of blacksmith's tongs. "But no food. The house is out. There's only parsley and sage in their garden. Makes for a crappy soup. I appreciate this."

Kenny blinked. "Wait a moment," he said, and put a hand on the can. "Can you get some water?"

"Sure," she said, her gaze questioning. "Why?"

"Let's save this and have a proper meal," he told her. "I have more."

She laughed, and he found himself thinking that a woman with a great smile like that would surely get away with a lot.

"More beans?"

"Better. My name's Kenny," he said, looking her firmly in the eye as he stretched out his hand.

"Carol," she said and shook his offered hand. "Pleased to meet you."


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait everyone! 
> 
> Also, remember how I said there would be nine chapters? I lied. There's one more after this.

Carol seemed set on sending him out for the water, rather than going herself.

"The old well is in the courtyard to the side. You can't miss it," she told him. "The parsley's in the garden bed behind the well. Follow the wall of the house. Just don't go in the house, and stay away from the windows. Here's a bucket."

He did as she bade him, skulking along the side of the house and keeping his distance from the windows. When he returned, he found out why she had wanted to be alone.

He'd eased back through the door with the bucket of water in one hand and an enormous bouquet of parsley in the other, to find her climbing up the ladder to the loft with his gun in her hand. His empty jacket lay folded neatly on the ground by the fire.

She heard him come in and paused on the ladder to look down at him.

"The gun stays up here until the morning," she told him, her face expressionless. "If you have any objections, put it in writing."

Kenny sighed, but he understood. She'd better return his weapons in the morning, or they were going to have an issue. Carol disappeared into the darkness above for a minute and then returned, her manner subdued once more.

Kenny poured the water into the cast-iron pot and balanced it on a tripod over the fire. He pulled his last can of beans from the pack, trying his best not to disturb the hen. He then took great pleasure in watching Carol's face as he pulled a packet of pasta, an onion and a sprig of rosemary from his pack. She couldn't conceal her surprise.

"You got a rabbit in there as well?"

"A hen ain't impressive enough?"

She snorted.

The water was taking its time. Carol used a knife to chop up the onion. He was aware that she didn't take her attention off him for a moment. Even when she appeared to be watching the movement of the knife, she was really watching him, from the corners of her eyes, ever vigilant.

Well, that was okay. He had little reason to trust her, either.

He poured half a packet of pasta into the boiling water, then folded the flap on what was left and shoved it carefully into his pack, underneath the hen's light weight. The hen opened an eye and glared at him until he eased back, crossing himself in mockery. Carol snorted again, but this time it sounded as though she was laughing.

"Okay, Kenny," she said. "Tell me about the damned hen."

"How I got her, you mean?"

Carol nodded, and Kenny sighed as he wondered where to begin. He decided to tell her the whole story, starting from when they'd left Wellington, when the gang from the farm had beaten him up and taken his can of beans. Then how he and the kids had found a place to stay for the winter. How he was foraging further and further afield for food. How he'd come across the box of cupcake mix and decided he'd like to surprise Clementine with fresh cupcakes, and so made his plan to raid the farm for the ingredients.

"I figured they owed me," he said earnestly, and Carol nodded gravely, though from the sparkle in her eyes he saw that she was suppressing amusement.

He told her about breaking into the chicken pen and accidentally letting all the hens out before realising that the cow was well-guarded and had already been milked anyway. He told her about sneaking into the farmhouse and helping himself to as much as he could carry, then how he'd gotten caught, and then what had happened with the pigs. He described the chase through the forest and his failed attempt to outwit the halfwits, then what had happened in Walker's Forest. He finished with the river crossing and finding the road leading to this old mansion.

Carol listened raptly and didn't interrupt, although she put her hand over her mouth a few times. Kenny didn't mind if she found it funny. He thought that he'd laugh about it himself, one day. Parts of it, anyway. He'd never laugh about the pigs. Or Walker's Forest.

She took over the cooking duties as he talked, draining the pasta, adding the beans, onions and herbs, reheating the mixture, and finally, dishing it out into two tin plates which were produced by Carol. He wound down his tale as the aroma wafted under his nose.

"So, here I am, and here you are," he told her. "Having dinner together."

Carol had a spare spoon, which she used to scoop up her first mouthful of pasta. Even then, her eyes never really left him.

"You're a nut," she told him.

"Yeah, probably am."

"All this to please a kid."

"Hey, she deserves it."

Carol shrugged. "It's your life."

"Yes, Ma'am, it is."

Carol fell silent as she ate. Kenny followed suite, feeling his hunger abate and now that that discomfort was taken care of, began hoping his trousers would dry off enough so that he would have a more comfortable night's rest. Suddenly, Carol looked up, just as he was in the middle of an enormous yawn.

"I'm not going to tell you your business, but I'll tell you this. Don't make the cupcakes for her. Let her make them for you. Little girls love that. She'll love that."

As Kenny looked at her, she avoided his gaze and he suddenly knew what this woman had lost.

"Thank you, Ma'am, that is good advice."

He wanted to ask for her story, but knew she would shut him down. It seemed that the conversation was done, so he finished his plate and put it aside.

"I'll clean the dishes in the morning," he told her, and, laying down by the fire, began to pull his jacket over himself like a blanket.

He turned his head and saw her watching him.

"You could come along with me," he offered, looking once more up at the rafters. "I could sure use another protector around the place."

"That's a nice offer," he heard her say. "I'll think about it."

He heard her get up. The fire's coals were deliciously hot. His eye slid closed, his breathing began to deepen, and as it did, he heard her say:

"Thanks, Kenny."

Sleep took him quickly.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait! Been busy and this was at the back of my mind...
> 
> Anyway, here's the final chapter of The Cupcake Dilemma.

It was morning, and there was an egg.

Kenny heard the comforting sound of the hen crooning to herself and opened his eye. About three feet away he saw a pale egg, sitting in a pan on the ground, a safe distance from the fire. He raised his eyebrows. He had expected the hen to be too upset from her recent adventures to lay any eggs. So much for what he knew about poultry.

And so much for what he knew about women. Or about one woman named Carol, at least. He knew she'd gone.

He felt something tugging on his hair and swivelled his eye to find the hen poised above him, head cocked and curved beak horribly close to his face.

"Jesus!"

He rolled away from her, which sent her into a startled flap and set his ticker racing. He arose to his feet and looked up at the loft, which had an empty feel. He thought for a moment, then put his hand on the egg. Still a bit warm. Carol hadn't been gone all that long. She'd left early in the morning, after putting the egg in the pan to keep it safe for him. Underneath the pan was a clean tin plate.

"Damn," he murmured.

He looked around and saw his knife and gun laid neatly side-by-side on a barrel by the door. Well, thank God for the woman’s honesty.

He fed the hen and gave her water then went up into the loft, feeling every sore muscle in his arms and legs as he pulled himself up the ladder. There was a pile of straw up there and nothing else.  
He sighed regretfully, climbed back down and slipped outside to take care of morning business. The sky was clear and blue and the smells were the fresh morning smells of a new day. It was an hour after dawn. If he were to get back to the kids this afternoon, he had to leave within the next hour.

He had time for a little breakfast, though, and so cooked and ate the egg. His stomach told him it was the right thing to do. He hadn't treated his poor old body well lately, but the good feed last night and undisturbed rest had done wonders. In fact, that was the best night's sleep he'd had since…since before all this started.

He put out the fire, then packed, slipped his gun and knife into his pockets, and stretched his arms for a minute, mostly to ward off the moment of taking on the burdens of the backpack and the hen once again. But soon enough, a sense of urgency gripped him and he picked up his pack, scooped up the hen and slipped through the doors.

He followed the path around the side of the house and jumped in fright when something bashed on a window beside him. A walker stood inside the house, eyes glaring at him as its face pressed against the glass, its jaws working as it scratched fruitlessly at the window. A second figure lurched up behind it. Kenny hurried by, knowing that the weight of both walkers could break the window and then they would be up on their feet and lurching after him – possibly with more friends currently hidden from view.

He trotted down the driveway and back up the concealed road, which took him back to the gravel road that ran towards the North-East. He followed it and an uneventful hour and a half later, he found the highway.

He knew to be careful here. The last thing he wanted was to run into any scavenging parties from the farm. He walked on or near the highway for over six hours, keeping his ears sharp and once retreating into the trees when the warning hum of a vehicle approached. He watched it go by from the shadows. There was no-one he recognised in the car.

It was strange, but motor vehicles really stank nowadays. He thought he knew why. The air was cleaner without all the traffic of civilization and he'd become used to it. The smell of exhaust made him feel sick now. He wasn't the only one; he'd seen Clementine pull a face at the smell of a car going by.

He only had trouble once when he had to drop the hen to kill a walker, then spent the next twenty minutes trying to catch her again. It was only when he'd chased her deep into the trees and realised the futility of playing her game that he finally used his brain and sat down to open his pack.

"C'mere, Ma'am, you little shit," he crooned as he brought out the Ship's Biscuit. She stopped scratching in the leafmould and hooned over to him. He let her have a few pecks at the crumbs he'd put on the ground and then grabbed her, ignoring her outraged protests.

"Yeah, yeah. Call the cops," he told her, and tucking her firmly under his arm, resumed their journey.

It was still early afternoon when he turned off the highway. Another hour and he found himself moving through familiar territory; his territory. His step became lighter and he began to bounce a bit when he walked; he whistled through his teeth.

And then, there was the cabin, right in front of him.

He circled it first, making sure everything was alright before he approached. It was quiet. He deliberately kicked one of the rattle-traps that circled the property and heard its reassuring clatter. He waited a moment.

He couldn't see the kids, but he and Clem had rehearsed this, and she knew where she should be. He bent and looked at the darkness under the porch, but there was no kid with a gun there.

Kenny's skin prickled. He continued his circle and approached the cabin from the rear.

There was the rough fence he'd made and the new vegetable patch, and AJ, sitting in the dirt by himself as he sucked on an old carrot.

"Ay!" AJ said, and carefully touched the carrot to the earth before putting it in his mouth again.

"AJ," Kenny said, tossing the hen over the fence before hopping over himself. "Hey, buddy, where's Clem?"

AJ stared at the white hen, the dirty carrot pointing like a finger at Kenny.

Kenny dropped his backpack and scooped up the baby. He swung around in a circle, looking around at the trees and the cabin. He held the baby out and checked his diaper, which was wet but not poopy.

"She was here with you within a couple hours ago," he muttered. "Clem! Hey, Clem! CLEM!"

"Kenny? I'm in the outhouse! Wait, I'll just – "

There were hurried movements within the little tin shed that served as the outhouse and within a minute Clem came flying out of it. He just had time to put the baby down before she flung herself at him.

"Jesus, I thought – are you ok?" he asked. "You alright?"

"Yep," she said, and pulled back to look at him. "You were away too long this time, Kenny."

"Hey, I'm back when I said I would be," he said, hurt at the criticism.

"I know, but it was still too long. I had to kill a couple of walkers that got too close."

"Man, I'm sorry, kid," he responded, contrite. "Darn it, I'm sorry. Yeah. We’ll have to go further for food, now."

Clementine looked up at him seriously. "If we can't be self-sufficient here, we'll have to move on, Kenny."

He sighed and rested his eyelids for a moment.

"Not yet, and it’s only a ‘maybe’” Clementine said hurriedly, as if she knew this was too much for him to contemplate right now. "I mean, it will depend on us being able to grow these crops.”

He nodded, and opened his eye in startlement when she squealed.

"WHAT the – KENNY? OH, MY GOD!"

Clementine ran over to the hen, who scuttled away in fright.

"A chicken! Kenny, where did you FIND it? Is it a girl?"

"Don't chase her, Clem," he said wearily, but he laughed. "Yeah, it's definitely a girl."

"How do you tell?" she said, looking dubiously at the lack of tell-tale underparts.

"She laid an egg, I'd say that's pretty good testimony," he said.

"She's pretty," Clem said. "Really pretty! And we're gonna have eggs, now!"

"We do," he said, feeling glad. "And you know what, kid? I'm gonna go inside and unpack, then I'm gonna show you a surprise, ok? Then I'm gonna crash on the bed for a while."

"Ooh, ok!" she smiled.

Clem scooped up the baby and Kenny picked up his pack.

"When I was little, we had a dog," she said as she led the way inside. "He was old, though. Mom and Dad had him put down. I never thought I'd have a pet again. Or that AJ would ever have one."

She turned to look at him.

"Kenny, we're going to keep her for eggs, not eat her, aren't we?"

"Yep," he said. "C'mon, kid. I've got stuff in here you wouldn't believe."

He unpacked his bag in the kitchen before Clementine's dazzled eyes. She touched the packets of pasta and crumbled some herbs between her fingers. She had less reaction to the onions, even though they were the most nutritious food she'd seen in a good while.

He brought out the flask of milk and then reached up to his hiding place at the very top of the cabinets and brought down the cupcake packet mix. He placed it in front of Clementine and watched her face as her hand crept forward to take it. She didn't seem to understand at first.

"And we'll have an egg tomorrow, so what does a packet of cupcake mix, a cup of milk and an egg equal…?" he asked her, as though he were a schoolteacher.

Clem's smile was like the sunrise. He had never been hugged so hard in his life.

Kenny awoke to the smell of baking.

"God, that smells incredible," he said aloud. He dragged himself up off his bed and stumbled, bleary-eyed and wild-haired, into the kitchen. His gaze went to where a dozen cupcakes sat on a cracked old plate.

“Carol was right,” he said to himself as he watched Clementine, who was studying the back of the cupcake box.

“Who?” she said absently. "Ah, yeah, it says here…for the frosting, we need to mix butter with the chocolate powder. But we don't have any, so I can use a little bit of milk, maybe…?" She looked up at him and blinked. "Huh?"

"Doesn't matter," he smiled. "They smell great."

"Yeah, they do," she agreed. "And they're cool enough, now. Do you want to help?"

"I sure would!"

Clementine made a very runny frosting and they stood side by side as they spread it over the cupcakes. Then came the grand moment.

"I'll get AJ," Clementine said, and left the room, returning quickly with the baby on her hip. He still clutched his dirty carrot.

"He can't eat a cupcake, but he can taste the frosting," she said.

"He's never had sugar. He'll never forget it," Kenny said.

Clem swiped her finger through the leftovers in the bowl and inserted her finger into AJ's mouth. The little boy stared at her neutrally for a moment, and then his dark eyes became huge. His feet kicked out in startlement.

Clementine laughed uproariously, and Kenny went into a thigh-slapping paroxysm of mirth.

"Oh, we've corrupted the little fella now!" he hooted. "Come on, it's our turn."

Clementine picked up a cupcake and bit into it. Kenny chose his own and did the same. AJ reached out towards Clem's cupcake with determined avarice in his eyes.

Kenny held his cupcake close to his face, looking at the bite he'd taken out of it while he chewed on the overly-sweet cake. Clementine lost control and shoved the rest of her cupcake into her mouth. AJ screeched in outrage as it disappeared and Clem quickly scooped up another cupcake and let the baby dabble his fingers in the frosting. Her eyes shone over at Kenny, above her bulging cheeks.

And in that moment of sticky chewing and licking of chocolatey fingers, Kenny realised why he'd been so stupid, so willing to take terrible risks for - apparently - so little reward.

***

Clementine took the baby's hand and gently guided it over the hen's white feathers.

"What'll we call her?" she asked, looking up at Kenny as he watched them from the back stoop.

"Uh, I just call her "Ma'am," he said.

Clementine laughed. "That's silly. Let me think. How about…hmm, well, she's white, so maybe…"

Kenny looked down at the hen as she pecked comfortably at the soil around Clementine’s feet. He felt a surge of affection for the creature, who had left the comfort of her pen to follow him and was now about to contribute towards a slightly easier future for them.

”She's a good little soul, so call her something that sounds nice. Nice 'n'…happy."

"Ok," Clem said. “She’s all white like milk, so let’s call her…Milkshake."

Kenny smiled as he thought about the half-used flask of milk. 

"Milkshake it is."

The sun shone warmly over them in this place of temporary respite. Kenny found that something inside him had relaxed a little.

They had them some peace, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for waiting, especially in the last few chapters. I hope everyone enjoyed!


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